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The alarm didn't go off at 5:30 as it was
supposed to, but I was OK with that. Another half an hour in the
bunk was not an upsetting discovery.
Jim was the first one up, annoyed that somehow the three inches of digital technology beside the bunk had not gone
off at the right time.
The dark hut was filled with a flickering orange
glow as the open fire
was re-lit and the billy (camp pot) of porridge that had been
soaking overnight was placed on the iron rack inches above it.
By 6:30 there were four of us standing in the
back of the farm vehicle and another three in the cab. Behind us was
a caged trailer with a number of eager dogs knowing that a good
day's walk was ahead of them. What they may not have understood was
that the walking was going to be done over some of the best
mountain scenery in the world. For them it was just going to be another day
at work.
A shingle fan pushes a river of rock across the valley
We drove up the valley beyond a massive shingle
fan, 2km (1.2miles) across at its base.
A shingle fan is a slow
moving river of fractured rock that delivers the debris from the
eroding peaks of the mountain range and carries
it down and out across the
valley floor like a massive grey flood frozen in time.
As the sun was beginning the chase the shadows
down
the valley walls, we threw on packs, left the vehicle and headed up
the Ailsa Stream in search of the Merino sheep
that had spent the summer grazing the valley.
Musterers and dogs climb in to a rising sun
By 9:00am we were flooded in sunlight and had
climbed to 1,500 metres (4,900ft) above sea level. A quick bite to
eat and it was time to find sheep.
The muster was executed by staggering musters
vertically up the side of the valley, from the
lower riverbed-beat at 1,000
metres (3300ft) above sea level, to the top-beat at 2,100 metres
(6800ft).
The line of men and women then walked at a
steady rate along the
valley wall trying to maintain the
altitude they have been set for the day. This was
easier said than done with several impassable guts,
bluffs and cliffs along the valley wall. |
As each mob of sheep
was found the dogs worked them
down the mountain side to the next musterer
who then worked them down
to the next and so on, until they were down in the
riverbed. The shepherd on the riverbed
beat then herded them down
the valley floor at the same rate as we
walked around the hillside.
A mob of sheep is driven down the valley towards
Lake Tekapo
By the end of the day we had walked over 15km
across the steep mountainside of the Cass Valley to the 'Tin Hut'.
The sheep we had collected during the day were
taken down beyond the hut
so they could be mustered further down the valley
the following day with the other sheep
found.
As the sun once again threw a shadow across the
valley floor, the boots were off, tomorrow's
lunch was made and then it was time for a
well earned beer before tea. For over twenty years Ron has been coming up to
Glenmore Station to cook for the seven or so others that come on the muster.
While we had been out chasing sheep around, Ron had remained
at the hut preparing the evening meal.
It was apparent when you saw the meal, that there were a few years
worth of experience behind it, for a large dixie (huge pot) was
lifted from the coals of the fire and a lamb roast was presented
from inside.
Along with the lamb came roasted and boiled vegetables and gravy to
die for.
This muster was not going to be an event to loose weight on!
Over the evening the beers became whiskies
and the stories got more interesting.
By 10:00pm the lights were off and the hut was once again filled
with a flickering orange of dying open fire.
Over the next two days
we collected over a thousand sheep from the sides of the Cass Valley
and brought them out to the flats of Glenmore Station where they
would remain throughout winter and spring.
The sheep are brought out in to the
lowlands for winter |
